In the Amber
by ladylampetia
Summary: Margo met Elliott on September 22, 2004.  They were both on the same plane when it crashed.  This story takes place in Season 1 and revolves around O/Cs and the main characters they will meet - for a reason.
1. End Of The World Type Meeting

First time trying my hand at Lost Fan Fiction and I'm not sure where this story will take me. Thanks for checking this out. Please R/R if you feel so inclined. :)

xxXxx

Elliott would never forget the first time he ever saw Margo Kirby. She remembered it differently, of course. (Of course, she would.) But he saw her way sooner, when she was waiting to board the plane. Elliott always thought that word was funny. You 'board' a plane; because that's exactly what you are before you get on the plane and after you're on the plane. Bored. Out of your gourd.

Well, on every flight except for their flight. Elliott might have a lot to say in the nasty letters he planned to send to Oceanic Airways, but none of the complaints would be about boredom. People had died. People might still die if help didn't come soon. It had people on edge and upset and wanting to do something about it. People on edge do stupid things. Impulsive things that might cause everything to go even more badly than if they –weren't- on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean? The Indian Ocean? They didn't even know what continent they were on, let alone what ocean they were staring into.

But wait. What had Elliott been thinking about? (It was easy to get off track and let your mind wander, looking at the plane wreck. And that's where he was, standing gazing up at one of the engines, perched tall and mammoth and proud, blocking out the setting sun.)

Oh, right. When he first saw Margo.

Elliott was at one of the bars in the airport, trying not to be bored. She walked right past him – young and fresh looking, with red, dark burgundy hair. Elliott couldn't blame himself for noticing the next part of her anatomy. That part underneath her shoulders but above her stomach. She wore a tight blue t-shirt with a drawing of a concert piano on it. Written underneath it said, 'If you lose your keys, I can find them'.

She ambled over to their gate and plunked down one seat away from a young boy of about – oh nine or ten – who was sitting and looking, well, bored. Elliott had been people-watching since he arrived at the airport, but in particular he watched the boy's father. His dad, African-American male, got into a disagreement with the boy and then went to make a phone call. The kid sat there, huffing out a sigh and swinging his legs.

The young boy stole a glance at Margo, who smiled brightly in return. Elliott couldn't hear what she said next, but whatever it was, she got a laugh out of the kid. A couple minutes passed, and then she took out a roll of lifesavers. She offered him one. Turns out, the kid got the red one. The boy got up and left after that, presumably to find his dad. Margo shifted her gaze upward and Elliott quickly swiveled his chair around to avoid eye-contact. He felt as though he'd been caught. He'd been watching something he shouldn't have, watching someone he wasn't supposed to.

It would be ironic to him later. How was he supposed to know that he wasn't the only one watching?

xxXxx

Margo met Elliott on September 22, 2004. They were both on the same plane when it crashed. But before she met him, Margo had other things on her mind. Like, the fact that she'd just survived a PLANE CRASH. And then there was the duffle bag that she could not find anywhere.

Margo rummaged through piles of luggage, bags, and backpacks that were littered in the sand. People must have been gathering them into one specific area, because they certainly didn't land that way. Margo's breathed harder and harder, and her heart raced. The sun was low in the sky. She couldn't find her duffle bag; it could be anywhere. Someone else could have found it and could have claimed it as theirs by now. She put everything in one duffle bag and hadn't carried a purse, because why carry two bags if you only have to carry one. Dammit! She'd been so stupid! If only she hadn't been so stupid, she'd have it with her right now. She wouldn't have lost it.

Margo threw up her hands. Great, now she was crying. Just what she needed. She was stupid, stranded on an island, and having an emotional meltdown. She was sure that would be real helpful to the situation.

She felt someone's presence next to her before she heard them say, "What did you do that for?"

Margo looked up. She brushed some tears from her eyes and said, "What?"

A tall, weathered man of Hispanic descent looked down upon her. He was taller than Margo. Not by very much, but his arms belayed muscles and he had a no-nonsense voice. "I said, what are you looking for?"

"Oh," Margo said. She composed herself, or tried to, and said, "I can't find my bag. I've been looking up and down the beach. I'm not even sure why I'm still looking for it. It could be a couple miles into the ocean now, for all I know."

The man blinked and said, "I think I saw more luggage in this section of the jungle over here. There's a path."

Margo opened her mouth to respond to him, when someone ran over to them. He called out, "Did I hear you say that you know where more of the bags are?"

Margo glanced over. A young man with unkempt brownish hair and a seared button down shirt and khakis scurried over. He wore glasses over his blue eyes, and struggled a little, running through the sand. Margo hadn't seen him before. The young man took a deep breath and smiled brightly at Margo. She looked back at him dryly.

The Hispanic man said, "Yes. However, it will be getting dark soon."

The young man said, "That's okay. I'm tired of walking up and down this beach, not getting anything but more sand in my shoes. Where did you see them?"

The man motioned over to a path that cut in between the palm trees and into the jungle. "They're just up there. At least, that's where I think I saw them."

"So just follow that path?" he asked.

"Yes, that ought to be the way."

Margo nodded. "Thank you for your help."

The Hispanic man began to walk in the opposite direction. "You're quite welcome."

Margo looked over at the young man standing next to her and then started upon the path that the gentleman had appointed her to. The young man hurriedly followed after her. "You can't find your bag either, huh?"

"Nope," Margo answered.

"We might not ever find it. I mean, everyone's looking for their stuff. Some people already gave up. But other people are sure that someone's on their way out here to get us. I mean, they have to be. Basically. It's just a fact that when these planes crash, they send their location back to their headquarters."

Margo had her own thoughts on the matter, but said, "Uh-huh."

A short silence loomed between them, and the young man offered his hand. "I'm Elliott. But everyone I know calls me 'Harp'."

"Harp?"

"It's my last name." Elliott held up the lanyard he still wore around his neck. It showed a picture of him grinning for the camera in a suit. It also said that he worked for the L.A. Times. "Harper."

She shook his hand and said, "Hi. I'm Margo."

"Margo. Nice to meet you." Elliott studied her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrinkled pack of Kleenex. "I have some tissues. If you want one."

Margo waved them away. She brushed her hands across her cheeks. "No, it's just allergies. That's why I need to find my duffle bag. It's got my allergy medication in it."

"Oh. What are you allergic to?"

_People who ask too many questions, _she thought.

Elliott smirked and asked, "Plane crashes?"

Margo couldn't help herself. She smiled. "Yeah, you might say that."

Elliott chuckled. "See. There, I thought that might get you to-"

They were cut off by a loud, piercing roar that echoed throughout the jungle. Margo turned around wildly in her tracks and her mouth parted open. Once the roaring quieted, the sound of crashing trees followed. Margo stared at Elliott with wide, disbelieving eyes, and he looked back at her just the same.

They both realized simultaneously how quiet it had become when the noises stopped and how alone they both were.

Margo started backing up first. Elliott said, "I think we better…"

Margo said, "Yeah."

They both took off running, kicking up sand as they hurried to get back to the rest of the group on the beach.

Margo remembered her immediate thoughts clearly. –Great. Of all the people to be stuck with after a plane crash in a jungle with monster noises, I get the equivalent of Shaggy in Scooby-Doo.-

Later, she'd understand that on September 22, 2004, Elliott Harper had saved her life.


	2. Baggage Claim

Despite the roaring and crashing of trees in the jungle, they survived the night. Elliott awoke early, as did many people. They wanted to see if the rescue boats were there, or at the very least if they could be seen on the horizon. A clear, pristine ocean was there, just as they'd left it, and nothing else. You could see that look of devastation returning to people's eyes. The survivors handled it all sorts of ways. Some people cursed and muttered under their breath. Some people cried quietly. Oh, and a fight broke out before the sun got too high in the sky.

The fight started out over something small. But everyone was so on edge, that's all it –would- take. One comment about homeland security from a swaggering guy with a Southern accent. He started it, but the Iraqi guy just about finished it. A girl broke it up. A hot girl usually can, so long as she's not the cause or subject of the argument.

But aside from that, for the most part? People went back to the work they had started the night before. Granted, those sorting through unclaimed luggage and carry-ons from the plane did so solemnly. (And tried not to think about who they previously belonged to.) But still, the resiliency of the human spirit was quite a thing to witness – especially, as Elliott noticed, in the women. What was that quote his grandmother always used to say?

'When men hit their sixties and retire, they go right to pieces. Women keep right on cooking.'

The women weren't cooking, but holy smokes, they were sorting. Didn't go for everybody, of course. (No one quote could, right?) But Elliott decided to take grandma's advice and started sorting through luggage, too. He looked around for the girl with the red hair – Margo – but he didn't see her. He started looking through luggage and trying to find the owners. If no one claimed it, he'd do his best to hunt the person down. After all, he thought morbidly. There weren't that many people to ask.

Elliott carted a heavy sucker with wheels that didn't work quite right any more through the sand. Not unlike homeland security, he was doing some profiling of his own. Elliott saw the Cuban man that he'd met on the beach the night prior. The guy hummed to himself and threw up a tarp into the edge of the forest, trying to make a shelter.

"Excuse me!" Elliott called out. "Excuse me!"

The man looked over. In the light of day, Elliott noticed a scar over his left eye. A lot of people had cuts and bruises, but this one wasn't recent. The man probably got it before Elliott'd even been thought of.

Elliott caught his breath as he reached the man. "Hi, we met each other the night before."

"Yes," the man recalled.

"Right, so. I saw this bag. I was wondering if it was yours."

The man stepped down and looked it over. "No."

He started to walk away and return to hanging the tarp, when Elliott said, "I'm, uh, my name's Harp by the way."

"Hello," the man said. "I'm Ciero."

"Ciero. Is that a last name or first name?"

The man narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"I'm only asking," Elliott said, "because I'm looking through a lot of luggage and belongings. Who knows? I might find something that belongs to you."

They stood there for what felt like a long time. Elliott had just about decided Ciero wasn't interested in answering his question, when he said, "Vasquez. My last name is Vasquez."

"Got it," Elliott said.

"Aren't you going to write it down?"

"No, I've got a …" Elliott smiled to himself and said, "I'm just really good with names."

With that, Ciero Vasquez dismissed Elliott and went back to hanging his tarp. Wasn't a bad idea either. If the humidity was any indication, it wouldn't be too long until it poured down rain. Again.

Elliott made his way to the opposite end of the beach. There were many realizations this experience was bringing on, and Elliott wasn't equipped to deal with all of them yet. Let alone the buzz just humming underneath everything he was thinking and feeling. _(What if no one comes, what if no one ever comes, what if the food runs out and there's no more clean water and the sun just keeps beating and beating down and the rescue boats never come and the creatures that were roaring and crashing come to hunt us what then...)_

Elliott knew these people could find their luggage themselves. They did that perfectly well every time they stepped off a plane, and no one had anything better to do besides. But he'd been trying to distract himself by running back and forth up and down the beach. He didn't realize how exhausted he'd become and how much his feet hurt. So when he saw the man he was looking for, he called out, "Hey!"

A big guy with a full and curly afro moseyed along and began walking in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" Elliott called again. "You!"

The big guy kept walking.

And then Elliott looked down at the luggage tag. "Hey! Mister … Hugo Reyes!"

At the sound of his name, the man turned around. He looked at Elliott with a confused stare. Despite his size, he moved quickly over to where Elliott stood. "Dude, how do you know my…." Then, a grin broke across his face. "Hey! You found my bag! Where was it?"

Elliott wiped sweat from his brow and took off his glasses to clean them with the edge of his shirttail. "It was all the way down this end of the beach. We've been bringing back as many bags as we can find and keeping them all together."

Hugo frowned suddenly and said, "Wait. How did you know I was me?"

Elliott admitted, "I've been stereotyping people up and down the beach."

Hugo huffed a short laugh at that and then said more seriously, "Yeah, you aren't the only one."

"Yeah, that was wild this morning, right?"

"You saw that fight break out?"

"Yeah. Some people have serious issues."

"Yeeeeah," Hugo slowly agreed. It was clear from the look on his face that Elliott's comment had reminded him of something else. "So, there's this guy. He's not doing too well… Some of us are looking for antibiotics and … gauze … and … anything that looks like it might be something a doctor could use to stop someone from bleeding."

They walked back to the group as they were talking. "We found a whole bunch of band-aids the other day."

"Yeah, this guy's going to need more than band-aids."

"Eesh," Elliott said. "Um…" He scratched his head. (He really needed a shower.) "Let me ask around to see what people have collected this morning."

"All right, man. Just let me know if you find anything." Hugo then said, "Hey. What's your name, dude?"

"I'm Elliott, but people call me Harp."

"I'm Hugo, but people call me Hurley."

Elliott reached out and shook the man's hand. "Go-Go Gadget nicknames."

Hurley smiled. "Didn't Dr. Claw live on a desert island?"

"I think that was his secret lair."

"We could use an Inspector Gadget right about now."

"Isn't that part of why they were all going on the hike? To see if that gadget they had could get a signal."

Hurley nodded. "Yeah. That's what they said. Go up the mountain, and send out the distress call."

"Well, like I said, everyone's been finding a lot of … stuff. Some of its cell phones and laptops. All the electronics just aren't organized in any way…Maybe that's the next thing we need to do." Elliott had a thought and he turned to the first person he saw, whose name he remembered, "Hey, Mr. Locke?"

An older gentleman with a very recent scar going down his right eye turned to him and raised his eyebrows.

"Have you seen that pile of empty suitcases that guy – Boone – was collecting?"

"Can't say I have."

"What about containers? Or boxes? Do you have any of those?"

Mr. Locke seemed to find something funny about that. He chuckled for a moment to himself and looked up with a satisfied smile. "No. No, I don't." Then softer. "Not any more."

"Oh," Elliott answered. "Okay."

Elliott and Hurley glanced at each other. They may as well have said:

_'That's a weird answer. Right?'_

_'Pretty much, dude.'_

If Locke noticed the glances, he showed no sign. "I'll let you know if I find any though."

Elliott nodded. "Thanks."


	3. The Dark Pearl

I miss some of the characters of Lost so much. That's what's been inspiring this story. :) Hope you enjoy!

xxXxx

Later that afternoon, Margo still couldn't believe the temperature. The morning dawned bright and early and –hot- and if anything, it had only gotten worse as the day wore on. Margo wiped a handful of sweat from her brow. That's right – a whole handful. And it wasn't just hot, either. It was sweat-drops-in-buckets-and-runs-down-your-legs-hot, mirages in the distance, afraid you might pass out, sticky, overwhelming type 'a heat. The night before Margo took a baseball cap from the piles of sorted clothes; she was damn sure glad she did. She drank down a bottle of water that wasn't cold, but hydrated her none the less.

It probably wouldn't have been this hot on the beach, but Margo walked into the middle of the jungle. Down the, um, "path" that the Hispanic guy told her to go down the night before. She had news for that 'Esse the next time she saw him. His path led just about exactly to Nowheresville. Population: Her. Margo fanned herself with a brochure for Oceanic Airways.

She read the back and murmured, "Fly the friendly skies, my ass."

That's right. Her ass there was luggage back here. Margo rolled her eyes and started to trudge back through the jungle to the beach. As she turned around and started walking, she paused for a moment. She swerved her head to the left … and then back to the right.

Wait… which way did she …?

"You've got to be kidding me." She propped her hands on her hips. "Christ on a cracker." What she wouldn't give for a GPS or a goddamn map of this-

Margo's thoughts were cut off by the sudden sound of something big and loud and fast running through the jungle towards her. Margo gasped and initially she froze. Initially.

-Oh my God, it's the monster from before.-

Then she got a clue and took off running as fast as her legs would carry her in the opposite direction of the noises coming towards her. Margo pumped her legs and picked up speed, crashing her own 'path' through the jungle. Whatever was behind her, it was not going to get her. She would –not- be that girl. She didn't come this far to die in some god-forsaken, hell-hole of a jungl-

Margo burst through a section of reeds and leaves and collided with a painful 'thump' right into someone else standing in the jungle. Margo let off an 'aah!' and they both went down like a load of bricks.

Lying on the floor of the jungle, she blinked her eyes and shook her head. When she turned around, an older, bald man with a white t-shirt, khakis, and a scar running down his right eye held up a knife. His figure blocked out the sun.

Margo let off a cry, "Aaah!"

"Whoa there," he said in a contrasting calm voice. He relinquished the knife and slid it back into place at his side. "You all right?"

He offered his hand to help her up, but Margo quickly scrambled to her own feet. He grabbed her by the arm, and Margo bucked. "Get off of me!" she ordered him.

The man put up both his hands in a sign of truce. "You got it." He smiled. "You just looked like someone who might need some help."

Margo breathed out a heavy sigh and collected herself.

The man asked. "You running from something?"

Margo looked in the direction she'd come from. Of course, the jungle had fallen completely quiet now. She made a case for herself. "There was a noise and crashing – loud crashing. Trust me, it was big. And it was after me."

The man smiled again. (How could a man like that smile and it's unnerving and completely calming at the same time?) "Looks like you got away."

Margo caught her breath. "Yeah. Though I'm not sure where it went." She stretched her neck and shoulders. Dammit, she'd fallen right on her shoulder blade. She looked at the man and said, "What're you… doin' with … that knife?"

He raised his eyebrows and said, "I was practicing."

"For what?"

"For when I need to use it." He paused and said, "After all, we're not the only living things here. And whatever is out there sounds bigger than we are."

"Right." Margo brushed dirt and leaves from her shorts and legs.

The man brushed off his right hand on his slacks and then offered it. "I'm John Locke."

"Margo," she said and shook his hand. "And thanks for breaking my fall."

He chuckled. "You're welcome." John tried out her name. "Margo. That's a nice name. You don't hear that one too much anymore."

"Yeah, that's what they tell me." Margo looked in a couple different directions. The wind picked up and brushed aside her red hair. She was thankful for the breeze. "Do you know how to get back to the beach from here?"

"Sure. You're not far, but I'll walk with you."

John stepped forward and Margo fell into stride beside him. "Thanks."

As they were walking, he commented, "Chicago had a rough season this year."

Margo blinked. "Excuse me?"

John pointed up to her hat. "The Cubs. Your baseball cap."

Margo huffed a laugh. "Oh, I just grabbed a hat out of the pile. I didn't even see which one I took."

"Well, you must not know much about baseball if you picked the Cubs hat," he said. "But then again, I'm biased. You're American?"

Margo nodded. "Yeah. Born and raised."

"Me too." John raised his head and appraised the jungle. "It's funny. I always wanted to travel and see the world. I suppose I'm getting what I wanted."

"I'm sure you didn't want it to happen like this."

"No. No, I sure didn't."

"I guess it's like they always say. Be careful what you wish for, right?"

"I don't believe in wishes."

Margo rolled her eyes a little, though she was still smiling. "Well, me either. I think I stopped believing in all that mess by the time I was seven or eight." She sighed and brushed some more sweat from the sides of her face. "Still, I wish I had some sunscreen. Or a few rescue boats."

He nodded sagely. "Everybody's worried about that. About when help will come."

"And you're not?" Margo asked.

John paused. He seemed to think on that for a moment, and then replied, "There's this old parable passed down from Ancient China. There was a powerful Emperor. He was on his way back from the Mountains. On his journey, he lost his prized possession. A dark pearl." John reached into his pocket. He pulled out a black stone. Or at least, Margo thought it was a black stone. On second glance, she saw that it was a round chip that could be played in a game, like backgammon or checkers. John relinquished the chip and held up four of his fingers. "He called for four of his greatest soldiers. He sent Knowledge, but Knowledge was unable to understand it. He sent Intuition, but Intuition was unable to see it. Then, he sent Expression, but Expression was unable to describe it." John stepped forward and moved large, leafy branches from trees out of the way and motioned for Margo to go through. "Finally, he sent Empty Mind. And Empty Mind came back with the pearl."

When Margo stepped forward, she found her feet back on the beginnings of the beach and the ocean crashing in the distance in front of her. She turned back and looked at John, who smiled again, revealing his crows-feet on the sides of his eyes. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that what I'm supposed to do? Have an empty mind?" she challenged him. "With everything that's happened?"

"Back there in the jungle, what were you looking for?"

Margo said, "I was looking for my duffle bag."

"Is there something important inside it, Margo?"

Margo sighed and said, "Yes, it's everything I came here with. It's ... It's all I've got left."

John looked out onto the beach and then back at Margo. "Some people feel like they need to do something and they need action in order to gain something." He smiled and said, "Some advice about finding your bag? Don't look for it. Let your bag come to you."

John opened up Margo's hand and placed the black chip in her palm. Margo down at the smooth round chip, for the moment, speechless.

John gave her a warm pat on the shoulder. "And be careful running through the jungle."

He turned to walk back to the spot he'd come from, when Margo asked in a somewhat childish voice. "What if I can't wait?"

John looked at her, like he understood exactly what she meant. "If you can't wait, there's a young man going around helping people find their luggage. His name's Harp. Maybe he'll have some idea of where to look for it."


	4. Team Phone Home

Margo walked back onto the beach to find a group of people gathering around a man with dark curly hair, dark skin, a smooth complexion, and an all-authority attitude. Margo jogged over and she stopped right beside Harp. Today he was dressed in what looked like the same shirt he'd worn the night before, but a pair of blue, green, and yellow swim trunks. They looked like they came from Pac Sun and had been worn before.

Margo nudged him in the arm.

Harp flinched and then his face broke out into a grin when he saw who it was. "Hey," he whispered.

"Hey yourself."

From there, their attention returned to the man in front of them. Harp stood, his arms crossed, his face set in a serious way listening intently to the man who hoisted himself up on a piece of the wreckage.

The man introduced himself as Sayid Jarrah. He reported that the transceiver had not worked as originally hoped and that they had been unable to get into contact outside of the island. When despair broke out among the group, he quickly implored everyone to not lose hope and began to direct the crowd. "I need to organize three separate groups. Each group should have a leader. One group for water. I'll organize that." He then searched the crowd. "Who's going to organize electronics?"

Harp raised his hand without hesitation.

Sayid pointed to him. "You?" He nodded to Harp, before once again addressing the group. "Rationing food?" Another hand shot up in the crowd. "Okay. And I will need a third group to concern themselves with the construction of areas to protect ourselves from the rain and the sun. We need to collect tarps, anything metal or plastic to see if shelters can be built…"

Harp turned to Margo. "So what do you say? You want to be in my group?"

"Trolling along the beach, looking through luggage and carry-ons for ipods and cell phones?" She smiled, though she said sarcastically, "Are you kidding? I can't wait."

"Am I keep you from something better to do?"

Margo thought of her own luggage. "No, not really."

"That's the spirit."

"So you know a lot about electronics?"

"Oh, I know a couple things." Then. "Well, honestly, I probably only know a couple things. I know how to use Microsoft Word. I know how to program a DVR, and I know how to use a microwave to make the perfect hot pocket."

"It is really difficult to work the DVR," she conceded. "I guess you're qualified."

Harp turned a shade more serious when he said, "I may not know what a transceiver is or how it works, but if we find anything even remotely electronic and that looks like it might get us off this beach, I'll be happy to hand it to someone who knows what he's doing."

They both looked back to Sayid, as Harp referred to him. At the moment, Sayid made eye contact with Harp and Margo and walked over to them.

Sayid extended his hand to Harp, "Thank you for helping."

Harp returned the firm handshake. "Hey, I want to get off this rock just as much everybody else does. My name's Harp."

Sayid nodded. He reached out and Margo shook his hand as well. "Margo."

"Good to meet you." Sayid looked around at two other men who were standing close-by. "Is this your group?"

Harp smiled and called over to the other two men only a few feet away. "What do you say, guys? Want to help find as many wires and electronics as we can on this beach?"

One of the men stepped forward. "Sounds fine to me." The other joined him.

A young man around Harp's age stepped forward. He waved. "Hi, I'm Boone."

Harp introduced a man in his mid-thirties with brownish hair and green eyes. "This here is Ethan. Ethan, this is Sayid and Margo."

Ethan smiled. Margo found his smile genuine and reassuring. He nodded to them. "Hello. Nice to meet you."

Sayid took them through what he was looking for: anything that could carry an electronic charge, whether it was charged or not, and any tools that might help in the repair of an electronic device. He clapped Harp on the back and went on his way to attend to what they assumed was his own team.

Harp stood, the leader of his team, and said, "Boone and Ethan, why don't you take this half of the beach and see if there's anyone who already owns electronics that's willing to part with them? Let them know it's all for the cause of sending out a distress signal." Harp turned to Margo. "Margo, what do you say we look inside the Fuselage?"

Margo's shoulders dropped. "The Fuselage?" She blinked and her voice began softer. "Harp, no one's been in there."

His response fell on the coattails of hers. "I've seen people going in and out of there. Margo, if there's anything people haven't gotten to yet, it's in there."

Boone spoke up and said, "I would be careful. I don't think they've moved any of the … ones who didn't make it."

Margo looked at Harp and her gaze conveyed: _Are you kidding me?_

Harp gazed at the Fuselage and then back at Margo. "Did you find your bag yet?"

"No," she answered.

"How do you know it's not in there?"

Margo kept his eye contact for a moment. He was a man who knew how to get at people's motives and how to inspire them to join him. Margo wondered what his job had been at the L.A. Times. "I didn't say I wasn't going to go."

Harp took that as a 'yes'. "Okay. Finally, the most important thing we need to do is give our group a name. What do people think?"

Boone smirked and chuckled a little. Ethan said, "What about The Digital Initiative?"

Boone said, "Too formal."

Margo said, "The Mr. Robotos?"

Boone said, "Too dated."

Margo turned to him with a matching smirk. "I don't hear you giving any bright ideas."

Harp then said, "How about – Team Phone Home?"

Boone and Margo both laughed, and Boone said. "There. That's the one."

"All right," Harp said. "Let's get out there and do what we can to phone home."

Boone stepped away to follow Ethan, when Margo caught his arm. "Hey, you went up with the hike, didn't you?"

Boone paused before he said, "Yeah. I did."

Margo pursed her lips. "Were you able to get anything? Any signal at all?"

Boone hesitated again. "No. Nothing was able to get through."

"So, do you think it's worth finding all these electronics? Do you think that'll boost the signal?"

Boone looked to the side and then he said, "If you're asking me, I don't know what we can do that we haven't already done. But I think if anyone can find a way to get out signal out there, it's Sayid. The more resources he has, the better."

His response gave Margo hope. She nodded. "Well, okay. Let's go then."

Boone called to Harp. "Meet back here?"

Harp said, "Yeah. Let's say before the sun gets too low on the horizon? Like an hour or so from now?"

Boone and Ethan both agreed and began to canvas the beach. Harp turned to Margo. He picked up two empty backpacks and shook the sand out of each of them as best he could. He handed Margo the pink one and took the blue one for himself.

"How very gender specific of you," Margo said.

Harp shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a traditionalist."

They walked through the sand towards the fuselage. When they reached it, they both stood, appraising the broken plane before them.

Harp looked at Margo. "How about it? You sure you're ready to do this?"

Margo stared up into the layers of the plane. She noticed as she stared at the plane, how small and fragile the aluminum was, and wondered how blindly every passenger, every family, and crew member had put their faith in the technological wonder before them. And when they fell, they fell hard. Her mind turned to other events that had been just as traumatic and how she often thought of how they too could have been avoided…

_An African-American male with a Brooklyn accent swaggered up to Margo. He donned a white t-shirt, chinos, and white gold jewelry, as well a number of tattoos. None of the tattoos had color though. They were a dark, brownish green that barely showed up on his skin. It made Margo wonder why he'd gone through the time and effort and hassle of getting them if barely anyone could see them. His name was Rahmil._

_Rahmil smiled and when he did, he showed off a mouth full of pearly white teeth and one white-gold tooth. "So how about it, Alice? You sure you're ready to do this?"_

_Margo leaned against a tall concrete wall, wearing her bright red and orange curls pinned back in a loose bun. She wore a black artsy hat to cover up most of her hair and sunglasses to hide her eyes. Her shirt and pants were black and though they weren't skintight, they were close. She had a jean jacket overtop the ensemble. She wasn't on the grift, at least not at the moment. But she'd be back out there soon enough._

_Margo crossed her arms and took in her surrounding from where she stood. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" she quipped._

"_Because I know people's types when I see them. I know this is the first time you're trying out something like this. First times have a way of not going the way you planned."_

_Margo huffed at his response. "How would you know something like that?"_

_Rahmil smiled, showing off those teeth again. "Same way I know your name's not Alice, … Alice."_

_Margo was in a warehouse, a small one, on the outskirts of Brooklyn. She didn't like coming this far out of town. It was hard to find a metro, or a cab, and trekking it? Not the best plan known to man. But then again, she wasn't here for the location._

_The warehouse was stocked with cardboard boxes of all shapes and sizes; they mostly held kitchen appliances. Margo smirked. Mostly, anyway, if the scheme panned out. Margo didn't know if it was drugs or guns or illegal ferrets, or what, but he was smuggling something. She didn't really want to think about it. _

_Margo made eye contact with the hired muscle speaking with her. "You seem to think you know a lot of things."_

"_I know I'm not the one who put this whole thing together, and I know I've never seen or heard of you before my boss told me to put you on payroll. That's saying a lot."_

"_If I were you, I'd try not to worry too much about that."_

"_I'm what you might call a concerned citizen."_

_Margo smirked. "Yeah, I bet you are."_

"_So are you gonna get this done? Or do I need to send someone along to make sure you don't get cold feet?"_

_Margo held her ground. "I said I'd get it done, and I said I'd have it here in four days."_

_Rahmil laughed; it was not a pleasant sound. "You say that like you mean it."_

"_That's because I do mean it."_

"_If you pull this off, I know someone who's going to be very happy with you." He looked at her, confident that Margo understood the converse: Screw it up and somebody is going to be very angry with you._

_Margo's frown deepened. She didn't think being intimidated, and she liked being reminded that she was part of a hierarchy, where more was going on than just her part in things, even less. Rahmil backed off of her, and Margo staggered backwards. Rahmil called back to her, "Four days, Alice."_

_Left alone standing in a warehouse full of kitchen appliances, Margo had nothing to do but turn back around and go back the way she came. What they didn't see when she left the warehouse was how she shivered and scurried away as fast as she could…_

…Thinking about where she'd come from, suddenly, the Fuselage didn't look as threatening as it had before. Margo turned to Harp. "I was born ready." She presented a closed fist. "Team Phone Home?"

Harp bumped his fist with hers. "Team Phone Home." He stepped forward and hoisted himself into the fuselage. "Let's find some life-saving electronics."


	5. Finders Keepers

Hope everyone is enjoying things so far. Here's the next bit. R/R if you feel so inclined. :)

xxXxx

The smell wasn't just bad. It was worse than words could describe, which for Elliott was saying quiet a lot. Still, having someone to endure it with him did prove helpful. After all, misery loves company, right?

Behind him, Margo coughed and hacked, ending with an "ugh".

Not that Margo would agree, of course.

In response, Elliott sorted through a cosmetic bag and handed her a small container. "Here, take this."

Margo donned a cloth tied around her nose and over her mouth. When she read the label, her voice was muffled. "Vic's Vapor Rub. You know, I told you that my allergies weren't acting up."

"No, no." Elliott motioned. "Rub it underneath your nose and then that's all you'll be able to smell. Besides, it'll do a better job than that Old Western mask you're wearing."

"It does the job."

"Bring 'round the carriage. Time to rob ye olde bank, part'ner."

Margo punched him in the shoulder. "Shut up." But she did pull down her mask from her face.

Dang, the punch hurt a little, too. She had an arm on her. Elliott had to hide his smile though. He'd been cataloging all the attention (affection?) she'd shown him in the past few hours. Nudging his arm, bumping fists, now a playful punch in the arm. The contact left an enduring mark, like a pebble thrown in water.

Elliott pulled himself together. No, it didn't mean anything. She was scared, right? Wasn't everybody? She was just looking for someone to talk to, someone who might help her. It didn't mean anything.

Margo frowned for a moment. Elliott watched her and said, "You look like you're having a deep thought."

She answered with, "You know, I feel like someone else's already been here."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it just seems like everything we're looking for: ipods, cell phones, laptops, blackberries, personal DVD players. It feels like someone's been through all this stuff already and taken whatever they wanted. I feel like we're just getting what's already been picked over."

Elliott was about to ask her what would make her think something like that, when the sound of one person applauding slowly and mockingly sounded above them. Both Elliott and Margo flinched their gaze upward.

A flashlight shown down on them. Elliott snapped his eyes shut and averted his gaze. When he adjusted his eyes, he saw a man smirking in the light of his flashlight. "Circle gets the square. I'd tell you what you've won, but we already got the all-expense paid trip to a tropical destination."

Elliott frowned up at the man. "How long have you been here?"

"'Long enough to tell who's the brains are, and it ain't you, small fry."

Elliott looked at Margo. She didn't say anything. She just looked at the man, like, well frankly, like she'd seen a ghost. The guy hiding in the shadows must've scared her more than he'd realized.

xxXxx

Margo wasn't looking at a ghost. Her heart did feel as though it had stopped though. Even though he wasn't a ghost, he was certainly someone she'd never thought she'd see again. She stared right at him, and it became clear that the swaggering, Southern man didn't recognize her. When Margo thought about it, there was really little reason why he should. After all, Margo was barely convinced that she was actually looking upon the same man now.

She raised her voice. "Why are you taking all the electronics from here?"

"Because I like shiny things." He grinned a wide, salesman grin.

No, he still didn't recognize her, but the more he talked, the more Margo became certain that it was him. "Feel like donating them to a worthy cause?"

"I'm not in the business of donating, Mary Jane," he said. "But if you and Peter Parker here have something you'd like to trade, well, that's a different conversation."

Harp sneered at the man. "You know we're bringing as many electronics as we can find back to the beach, so that we can get a signal out and get us all back to where we came from."

"You do what you need to do, hoss," he said. "If you're smart, you'll start worrying about something else besides sending out some half-baked signal."

Margo frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means people are the same here as they are anywhere else, sweet cheeks. When that sun gets high, water starts running out, food gets low, and people start getting tired of this little tropical vacation, tempers are gonna run redder than that hair on your head." He grinned and it made a 'click' sound when he did. "When that happens, well, you'll know where I'll be."

The man swung a well-stuffed bag over his shoulder, tipped an imaginary hat to them, and made his way out of the fuselage. Harp shook his head and sighed. "I know that guy."

Panic seized her, and Margo blanched. "What?"

"I heard Hurley talking about him. His name's Sawyer."

"Oh. I thought you meant like you –knew- him."

"No. It took me a minute to recognize him. He's the same guy who got into that fight with Sayid."

Margo nodded, understanding now. She noticed, "You're really good with names."

"Everyone's good at something, right?"

Margo quieted and rubbed some Vic's vapor rub right beneath her nose. Harp was right; it did make it easier to breathe.

Harp dug deeper into the pile of bags now, fueled by his growing frustration with the man. "But I mean, I know people like him, and people like him are what's wrong with society in gener-"

"Harp, look out!" Margo grabbed Harp by the arm and pulled him towards her. Not a second later, a long, heavy black bag lost its grip on the edge of the overhead container and crashed down with a loud 'bang' right in the spot where Harp had been.

Margo's heavy, panicked breathing matched Harp's. She looked up at him, from where he'd fallen atop her. His face was only inches from hers. "Are you all right?" she asked.

He blinked, as if blinking himself back to reality, and said, "Yeah. Yeah, thanks." He paused and finally changed the subject, "You saved me from what might have been my last headache."

"No problem," Margo said.

Harp pushed himself away from Margo awkwardly and Margo brushed herself off. He made his way over to where the bag had fallen. "What was that?" He crouched down next to the bag and unzipped it. Harp gasped and moved backward from what he found. "Whoa."

Inside the bag was a long, dark sniper rifle along with a tripod and all the necessary tools and equipment. It was also stocked with at least four boxes of ammunition.

Harp stared down at the bag with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Holy shit."

Margo's breathing remained unsteady when she said, "I guess there's at least one thing we found before Sawyer did."


End file.
